Who’s Crazy?

Let’s play a new game. It’s called “Who’s Crazy?” Our contestants this week are my dear husband Randy and me.

On Friday evenings, we celebrate our pretty-much-hopefully-weekly OTK spanking ritual. You know how that goes. He whacks my butt and I say ouch a lot. It’s good. But sometimes, there’s more…

I was in my usual face-down position, receiving all he had to offer, and mostly holding my own, I thought. Then the heat stopped cold. The whacking ended suddenly and without any warning. What? Was he injured? Was I? Did the paddle break? Was it something I did? I tried to twist my neck around in hopes of detecting the nature of the mishap, but to no avail. He just left me there atop his lap. Well used but not excused. I just didn’t know. Why should he stop now?

My love squeezed the top of my right hip near my waist using his left hand. “This is sheer perfection,” he exclaimed as if struck with a bolt of revelation from the beyond. His words seemed like an ideal straight line, but for once, curiosity and confusion prevented me from attempting a clever comeback. I had no clue what he meant.

“Perfection.”

“Huh?” I’m the one who gets to visit subspace, not him. “Have you been eating gummies?”

“No. No. Your body. Nature and evolution have thought of everything.”

“Everything except how to not pee myself.”

(ignoring my rebuttal) “Look at this.” He tightened his hold on my side, slipping his hand inside the waistband of my thong. “You have this kind of notch where your hips meet your torso. It provides a great handhold to keep you right in place while I’m spanking you.”

“That’s your revelation?” (you stopped our spanking for this?)

“I can paddle your butt, even hard,” (demonstrates) “…and you can’t go anywhere”

“Ow!”

“Because I have the perfect grip.” His left arm pulled me in tighter.

I decided this would be an inopportune moment to remind him about certain members of his family who possess only an ephemeral grip on reality, especially when he was still holding the paddle. I’ve heard his theory of spanko natural selection for years, and it doesn’t make any more sense with subsequent retellings.

He thinks my ancestors must have had predilections that led to mating choices that, over many generations, favored female bodies with large, round, wide bottoms. His evidence is that my mother, me, our daughter, and her daughter all have the same protruding posterior.

“Small sample size,” I informed our resident engineer. Statistics was never his favorite subject.

“But look at it…”

“I can’t look at it. It’s in back of me.”

“You know what I mean.”

I didn’t know what he meant and still don’t. But in his mind, I think he was paying me a compliment while crediting the good taste of my ancestors. Finally, I had heard enough.

“Are you going to spank me or are you going to let me up?”

That was all the reminder he needed. He spanked me.

So, what do you think?     Who’s crazy?